


A Rainy Day in London

by The_Honeyed_Hufflepuff



Series: Fire-verse [5]
Category: Carry On Series - Rainbow Rowell
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Domestic Fluff, Fluff, I wrote this because my other fic is depressing me, M/M, Not Wayward Son Compliant, Plans For The Future, Sleepy Baz
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-26
Updated: 2019-04-26
Packaged: 2020-02-04 20:34:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,597
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18612031
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Honeyed_Hufflepuff/pseuds/The_Honeyed_Hufflepuff
Summary: Simon & Baz take a walk in the rain & talk about the future.(This takes place on the same timeline as my other fics but can be read by itself.)(Also I still suck at titles.)





	A Rainy Day in London

**Author's Note:**

> Hey y'all! Working on _In My Blood_ is making me crazy so I wanted to write a little something happy from Simon's POV.
> 
> If you haven't read my other stuff, here's some important info before we start -
> 
> 1\. Simon is a food blogger. He's done pretty well for himself!  
> 2\. Baz is studying to be a professor.  
> 3\. Simon's had his wings & tail removed.  
> 4\. I think that's pretty much it! Hope you enjoy.

_December 2020_

**SIMON**

It's a rainy day in London.

Not the best lighting for food photography, which is a bloody shame because I was really hoping to get the rest of my photos for this cookbook done _today._ Then I wouldn't have to think about it any more.

It's the third time I've done one of these. A cookbook, I mean. And every time I tell myself I won't do it again because it's just _too bloody stressful._

Then a few months go by. A year. And I get that itch again.

People _buy_ them, too, which still amazes me. It makes us good money, Baz and me.

I make them myself - the books - with his help. I create the recipes, take the photos, write the book. He proofreads for me, even though they’re digital and he hates reading on mobile. All of my cookbooks are digital, self-published. You get more money that way. Not that we've ever _really_ needed it, but I like to pay my own way.

I like to have something that's _mine._

I'm just now realizing that I might've picked a bad bloody time to do something stressful like this.

Baz is working on his dissertation. Has been for weeks. He's knackered and grumpy and stressed, and I don't know why I thought it was a good idea to work on another cookbook right now.

I sigh and put my camera away. I'm not getting any photos taken today.

I think about going into the study and distracting Baz, but he probably doesn't want me in there right now.

I think about texting Penelope, but she's probably busy with schoolwork, too. Same goes for Micah.

This is what happens when you're the only one who doesn't go on to a Masters programme, I guess. (Maybe _that's_ why I started a new book. To work hard at something with everyone else.)

I could call Daphne. See how she liked the recipe I asked her to test for me.

Maybe I'll just rewatch _Game of Thrones_. Start from the beginning.

No, it wouldn't feel right without Baz.

Maybe I should go distract Baz.

I'll just go distract Baz.

I knock on the study door but don't wait for an answer before I open it.

Good thing, too, because I wouldn't have gotten one. Baz is sleeping in front of his laptop, his head resting on his crossed arms in front of him. He's got a mug of tea that's gone cold and an empty package of salt and vinegar crisps next to one of his elbows. Crumbs all over the desk. I roll my eyes and move the tea before he has a chance to spill it on his computer in his sleep.

He's got his hair pulled back the way I like, in a messy bun at the back of his head. It's messier than usual, too; I guess it's probably been a while since he fell asleep.

I tuck some stray strands behind his ear. He makes a sleepy little noise when I bend and kiss the scar at the back of his neck.

“Hey, love,” I say. “D'you want to move to the bed?”

“Mmph.” That _might've_ been a no?

“Right,” I say.

“Time s'it?” Baz mumbles. He's bloody adorable.

I grin; I can't help it. “Mid-afternoon.”

He groans.

“It's alright, love,” I say. “You've still got plenty of time to get this done, yeah?”

He opens one eye. Or maybe he's opened both; I can't see the other one. “I like having things done ahead of time.” His voice is scratchy with sleep.

“Baz. I’ve been telling you since you started your Masters that maybe things have to be different now, yeah? Maybe you need all the time you can get. You’re not gonna fail because you turn it in on time instead of early.”

He rolls his eye - eyes? - and closes it again. He doesn’t say anything, which usually means he thinks I’m right.

I smooth a hand over his back. “Come take a break, yeah?”

“‘M too tired for a break, Snow,” he says.

I sigh. “I didn’t mean _that_ sort of break,” I say. Having a shag hasn’t exactly been at the top of his priority list lately. Personally I think it’d help with the stress, but maybe that’s just me. I don’t push him.

I knead my knuckles into his shoulders instead. They’re hard as bloody rocks. Baz moans at my touch. I hope it’s a good noise; this feels like it might hurt.

“C’mon,” I say. “If you don’t want to drag yourself to bed, at least come lie down on the couch, yeah?”

He sits up and stretches his arms over his head, yawning. I catch it. The yawn, I mean. “S’it still raining?” he says.

“All day,” I say.

Baz stands up and stretches some more. “Can we sit outside a bit?” He likes the rain, says he finds it calming. I suppose I do, too, when it isn't ruining my plans.

“Yeah,” I say. “D’you want something? Coffee? Blood?”

“Blood. If you don’t mind.” He needs all he can get lately, I think. He’s been going through it faster than usual.

“Yeah. I mean, _no._ I don’t mind.”

He presses a hand into my waist and kisses the corner of my mouth. “Thanks, love.” His hand’s gone entirely too soon. I miss it.

When I get to the kitchen, there’s no blood in the freezer. None thawed in the fridge, either.

Oh, fucking hell. I've been so busy with this book and I used some of his blood for black pudding and he’s been drinking more than usual and I just didn't _realize._

I don’t think we’ve ever run out of blood before.

Baz comes up behind me while I’m still staring into the fridge. He circles his arms around my waist and rests his chin on my shoulder. Stray bits of his hair tickle my cheek. It feels nice, all of it.

“Have you made anything magically appear that way?” he says. “With the staring.”

“We’ve gone and run out of blood, love,” I say. I nudge his face with mine. “I’m sorry; I didn’t...” I sigh.  “I’ll run to the butcher’s and get you some more, yeah? I don’t know how I didn’t notice.”

Honestly, though. How do you not notice that your freezer _isn’t_ stocked with blood?

“Simon,” he says, and he squeezes me tighter. “It’s alright. I should’ve paid attention.”

“Well, _I buy it_ ,” I say.

“That’s because you do the grocery shopping.”

“Well, I should’ve _realized-_ ,”

“Are you really trying to pick a fight over this, Snow?” I can’t see him from this angle, but I know he’s raising an eyebrow at me. He sets one cool hand over mine on the refrigerator door and closes it. He’s still holding tight to me with his other arm. “You could at least blame it on me, if that’s what you’re going for.”

I turn to face him. He doesn't let go of me. “I’ll go get some more,” I say again.

“I’ll come with,” he says, smirking.

“Baz. It’s _raining_.”

“Last I checked, I’m a _vampire_ , Snow. Not the Wicked Witch of the West.”

“We’ll take the Jag, then.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. It’s just down the road. Let’s take a walk in the rain.”

“We won’t be able to get very much.”

“I just need enough to get by for a few days. We can do a proper run another day.”

I don’t really _like_ to grocery shop like that, but we'll get a little extra time together this way. “Yeah, alright.”

“Go get your wellies on,” Baz says. “I'll get the umbrella.”

 

* * *

 

The walk's familiar, of course.

We've lived in this flat for years, and I've walked to the butcher's more times than I can count. He knows me, and he likes my recipes, and he never thinks it's weird that I buy more blood than is probably necessary for two blokes, even if we _do_ eat a lot of black pudding. He even sells it to me cheap, seeing as I buy so much.

Down the road, past the little houses, past the park.

I think about asking Baz about his dissertation - how it's coming along - but that might just stress him out more, so I don't.

Baz takes my hand as we walk past the row of houses by the park, and I sort of wish we weren't wearing gloves. It's cold, though, and rainy, so I just squeeze his hand through the fabric.

“I talked to Father yesterday,” he says. “He wanted to make sure we were still coming for Christmas.”

I think about that, about spending a week in Yorkshire. The snow, the woods. Playing with the kids. Going hunting for our own food. Last Christmas, Mr Grimm showed me how to hunt and dress a deer. I think my readers nearly got sick of all the venison recipes I posted after.

I think about just _relaxing_.

I think about spending time with Baz, without papers and cookbooks and all the rest.

“Was he worried we weren't?” I ask.

“I think he thinks I'm too caught up in my schoolwork.”

“You _are_ too caught up in your schoolwork,” I say.

“I am not.” Stubborn git.

“ _Baz._ I just found you sleeping in front of your bloody computer. You're knackered,” I say. “And we're going for Christmas. _And_ ,” I squeeze his hand, “I’d like it if you left your dissertation at home when we do.”

He doesn't argue. He just sighs at me. “Fine,” he says, and I can feel him looking at me. I know he has his eyebrow raised before I even turn to look at him. “But if I have to leave my work behind, so do you.”

I grin at him. “ _Fine_ ,” I say, and I open the door to the butcher shop.

 

* * *

 

The rain’s picked up when we leave the shop.

Baz takes his blood; it’s not such a heavy package for him. I take the brolly so he has a free hand to hold mine.

I look up at it, then at Baz. “Couldn't you just, like, spell us _invincible_?”

Baz quirks an eyebrow at me. “Sure, Snow. If you'd like me to reveal myself to all of London.”

I roll my eyes. “People don’t pay that close attention.”

“I thought you were enjoying our walk.”

“I _am_ ,” I say, because it’s _true._ And even though he _could_ spell us dry if he wanted, I actually like having to use the brolly. We have to stay close if we don’t want to get wet.

Baz rolls his eyes, but he smiles when I squeeze his hand.

“D’you think Mordelia’s been a terror at Watford?” I ask. She’ll have just finished her first term when we go to visit, and I can’t wait to hear about it, honestly. She missed the age margin by just a few weeks last year, and she was still pouting about it last Christmas. I want to know how much she loves it there.

“I don’t think,” Baz says. “I _know._ ”

That makes me smile. The Grimms are my family now - even if Baz and I aren’t married yet - and I love them.

It’s not like I haven’t _thought_ about marrying Baz. I have. A lot. But I can’t give him a magickal proposal, obviously, and I think he’d like that. Or maybe he wouldn’t care, I don’t know. He’s always said it’s me he loves, not my magic, but I’m waiting anyway. I want to give him his chance, if he wants to take it. Even if I don’t need him to stop time like Penny or defend me in duels like his mum.

Anyway. Baz’s brother and sisters are like the siblings I never got to have, and they like me. They even like helping me cook.

I’m just thinking about all the food I’m going to make for Christmas dinner when Baz starts to slow down. He’s stronger than me, and I’m almost yanked backwards when he comes to a full stop. Rainwater pours down off the brolly when it jerks in my hand. I almost give him shit for it, but I don’t when I see what he’s doing.

We’ve just reached the little houses by the park again, and he’s stood in the walkway staring at them.

“Baz?” I say. I squeeze his hand when he doesn’t say anything.

He takes a deep breath - in through his nose and out through his mouth, just like I taught him years ago - before he looks at me. “Do you think maybe it's time we moved, Snow?”

“Moved?”

“Did I stutter?” He's nervous about something. He always reverts to insulting me when he's nervous about something. More so than usual, anyway.

I squeeze his hand again, because he doesn’t _have_ to be nervous. Hopefully he understands. “What're you thinking?” I say.

He averts his eyes, shifts his package of blood from one hand to the other. “Well. Maybe once I'm done with my dissertation, and you've finished your new cookbook...maybe we can…” He looks towards the row of houses again. The rain is thumping against the top of the brolly.

My heart’s started beating faster, and I can feel my face turning red. “D'you,” I start, and I squeeze his hand again while I find my words. “Are you saying. You want to...buy a house?”

Baz _shrugs._ He isn't blushing. He hasn't had anything to drink today. “The flat…it's getting to be too small.”

It _isn't._ Not for just the two of us.

I step in closer to him, put an arm around him. I can feel myself grinning. “You want to have your name legally tied to a deed with me?”

“We could get a place with a bigger kitchen for you,” he says. “And a place with a _bathtub_ , for Crowley's sake.” Of course. He's been whinging about our flat's lack of a bathtub since the bloody beginning.

I pull my bottom lip into my mouth and run my tongue over the scar there. “You wanna buy a house with me.”

Baz rolls his eyes even as he's wrapping his free arm around me. “I want to _look_ at houses to potentially purchase at some point in the near future,” he says, and then his eyes meet mine. “With you.”

I kiss him, right here in the middle of the walkway, give him a proper snog and all. I don't care if it's rude; if people have to walk around us. (It’s only us out here in the rain, anyway.)

He sighs into my mouth, and I hum into his, and _Merlin,_ I’ve missed this.

I've missed Baz.

I've missed _us._

I’m out of breath when I pull away. Baz smiles, the silver in his grey eyes glinting. Or maybe he’s about to cry.

I tighten my arm around him and nudge his nose with mine. He shifts until our cheeks are touching and tightens his arm around me, too. His hair smells like cedar and bergamot and salt and vinegar crisps.

I don't know what to say right now. There's a lot I want to say, I guess. A lot I _could_ say.

I say what I know.

“I love you,” I whisper in his ear. I can feel him smiling against my cheek. Baz smiling is one of my favorite things.

Baz's lips brush the shell of my ear. He says, “I love you, too, Simon Snow.”

And then he pulls back and kisses me again.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> This fic was inspired by a [beautiful piece of art](https://dancingwdinosaurs.tumblr.com/post/167981346110/carry-on-countdown-day-4-rainy-day-some-of-you%22) by the lovely @dancingwdinosaurs. She has a [coloring book](https://thehoneyedhufflepuff.tumblr.com/post/183517895717/dancingwdinosaurs-hello-lovelies-i-ve-spent) of some of her art & I colored my own version of the piece (end of the fic). 
> 
> Check out Lena's art on [Tumblr](http://dancingwdinosaurs.tumblr.com) & [IG.](https://instagram.com/dancingwdinosaurs?igshid=lkoah8o00w28)
> 
> Come [visit me on Tumblr, too!](https://thehoneyedhufflepuff.tumblr.com/) (I'm ridiculous.)


End file.
